


Penance

by The_Arkadian



Series: Reflections [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Blood and Torture, Darkfic, Fisting, Hanging, I suppose it makes a change from whumping Anders?, I worry about the things my brain comes up with sometimes, M/M, Rape, Whipping, still mage-whumping though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:40:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Arkadian/pseuds/The_Arkadian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arden Hawke seeks to learn for himself at first hand what happens to mages who are punished in the Circle. He receives more than he bargained for, and Sebastian has his eyes opened to the abuses of some of the templars.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Penance

Arden stood before Sebastian, head lowered, his hands folded within the sleeves of his robes.

 “Let me get this straight,” said the Chantry brother slowly, setting aside the slender volume of Chants he had been reading before Arden’s quiet arrival. “You feel you have transgressed against Anders in some way, and you seek to make amends?”

Arden nodded.

“Why come to me?” asked Sebastian as he rose.

“Anders has told me of how mages were... punished... for their transgressions in the Circle,” Arden said slowly. “I wish to...understand further what he - they - went through.”

“You want me to punish you like a Circle mage?” said Sebastian slowly, raising his eyebrows. As Arden said nothing, he took a step closer to the man who so resembled the apostate healer. “Look at me, Hawke,” said Sebastian quietly.

Arden raised his head slowly and regarded the priest with troubled eyes.

“You are resolved upon this? There is no other way you could make amends?” asked Sebastian quietly. “I would hear your confession gladly, set you penance....”

Arden shook his head. “I have to understand, to experience what he went through for myself,” he insisted.

Sebastian regarded him sombrely. “You must submit to the hands of a templar,” he warned.

Arden swallowed, paling slightly, but he nodded again. “Whatever is required,” he said quietly.

Sebastian laid his hands on the apostate’s shoulders. “Hawke... Arden,” he said slowly. “Do you understand what such a punishment will entail? You will be whipped; fifty lashes is the standard punishment for most infractions. You have never been whipped before. Your body is slender. You may not be able to withstand such punishment-”

“I will take whatever is meted out,” said Arden quietly.

Sebastian let his hands fall away, and sighed. “Very well. Follow me. We must go to the Gallows; my paltry cell is not equipped for such... activities.”

Arden nodded, and as Sebastian led the way from his small stone room he lifted his hood over his head before lowering his gaze to the floor and tucking his hands within the sleeves of his robes once more as he followed Sebastian.

He had thought this over and over. He had erred grievously and inadvertently hurt Anders with careless comments, all through a lack of understanding. He could not fully comprehend what the other mage had gone through during his time in the Circle; Anders would never speak of it, and Arden never pried. But he had gone too far during a recent argument; they had fought an abomination, and Fenris had pointed out it was only a matter of time before Anders succumbed to his own demon, suggesting the mage ought to be taken to the Gallows for his own safety. Arden had suggested in all innocence that perhaps it was a good idea, at least temporarily - that maybe the enchanters would have a better idea how to help Anders. They would break him out again later of course; Anders could not bear the thought of leaving Anders or any other mage in there too long. But perhaps -

Anders had gone white; first in fear, and then in fury. There had been a blazing argument; shouting, recriminations. Anders had stormed out in a fury.

Later Arden had sought Anders out, apologising, begging his forgiveness and asking to know how best to make amends. The former Grey Warden had spoken the words of forgiveness easily enough and told him he need do nothing, but the hurt look of betrayal in his eyes had haunted him during long restless nights for weeks afterwards.

He did not know what had happened to Anders in the Circle. He needed to find out.

Sebastian led him down into the labyrinth of cells beneath the Gallows. As they approached the punishment cells, he nodded to a templar. “Ser Alrik, come with us, if you would,” he said quietly.

“Brother Sebastian,” nodded Alrik, darting a glance at Arden. “Ah, you are bringing me a recalcitrant mage for punishment?”

Sebastian nodded. “He has transgressed, Ser Alrik, and requires the tender mercy of correction. I understand you have the talent of such from what I hear?”

“I would not say a talent, Brother,” replied Alrik as he regarded Arden thoughtfully. “Some small gift, perhaps.” Arden kept his eyes on the floor. He wondered where he had heard the name of Ser Alrik before. “Bring him inside.”

Alrik unlocked the chamber door and led them inside. He gestured to a set of manacles that hung from the ceiling. “Strip,” he ordered as he made his way over to an instrument table nearby.

Arden glanced to Sebastian, who nodded. He unbuckled his belt, letting it fall, then unlaced his robes, letting them pool on the floor about his feet. The under-robe followed, then the linen shirt. He pulled off his boots then reached tentatively for the waistband of his pants, but Sebastian shook his head, gesturing towards the manacles.

Arden swallowed and stared up at the manacles. They were of cold hard iron, pitted with rust and flecks of something dark, almost black. He moved slowly forward and stared up at them in apprehension.

“Skinny thing, isn’t he?” observed Alrik as he turned back, regarding Arden thoughtfully as he circled round to stand before Arden, one gauntleted hand tracing coldly over the slender mage’s ribs.

“He is strong,” replied Sebastian calmly. “He will withstand his punishment.”

“Will he?” said Alrik speculatively. Without warning, he doubled his hand into a fist and punched Arden once, hard, in the stomach. Arden doubled over with a hoarse cry, clutching his midriff in pain. Alrik caught his hair in one fist and dragged him back upright, backhanding him casually across the face. Arden’s head was snapped hard to the side by the force of the blow; he ran his tongue tentatively across his lip and tasted blood.

Alrik grasped his left wrist and yanked it up high above his head, fastening a manacle about it tightly before doing the same with the other wrist. The height of the manacles forced Arden to balance on the balls of his feet, arms pulled painfully high. Alrik forced a leather gag between his teeth that was little more than a steel rod wrapped thickly with leather, and fastened it behind his head. It felt like a bridle, and the edges of the bar dug into the corners of his mouth.

He hung there, arms trembling slightly with the strain, as Alrik slowly walked around him. Arden followed him with his eyes as the templar walked over to the instrument table and returned with a long whip coiled in his right hand. The templar smiled unpleasantly and then walked behind Arden.

The first blow caused him to gasp, arching his back in pain as the skin burned hot, a weal rising almost immediately from his left shoulder down his back to right him. He panted, and then a second stroke was laid across his back from right shoulder to left hip, forming a cross across his back. He bit down on the leather gag with a grunt as the third blow hit.

By the twelfth blow he was screaming. By the twenty-second, his screams had died to hoarse ragged cries; by the twenty-ninth, they had died to panted whimpers. His knees had given way somewhere around the twenty-fifth blow. He lost count somewhere around thirty-five.

By the fiftieth blow, he hung semi-conscious from the chains, silent save for his heaving, ragged gasps for air  as blood ran wet and hot down his back, soaking into the waistband of his pants.

Alrik walked away from the bleeding mage and laid down the blood-slicked whip, reaching for a bottle of a clear liquid. As he uncorked it and poured a measure into an iron cup, the sharp tang of vinegar drifted to Sebastian, who had watched seemingly unmoved by the mage’s ordeal, though inside he was sorely troubled by having to stand by and merely watch his friend undergo such punishment. Sebastian frowned at the cup of vinegar. “What are you-” he began.

Alrik threw the cup of vinegar directly onto Arden’s raw and bleeding back, and the mage stiffened with a scream, rocking in the chains as he writhed in agony, his back aflame in renewed pain.

“Was that really necessary?” exclaimed Sebastian.

“We must not allow the mage’s wounds to become infected, must we, Brother Sebastian?” chided Alrik with a sinister smile as he moved behind Arden once more. He reached up and freed Arden’s bruised and bloodied wrists from the manacles, catching him about the chest as Arden sagged, groaning. He half-carried, half-dragged Arden over to a nearby table and pushed him down onto the hard surface so the mage was resting with his upper half upon the table’s worn, blood-stained surface, his legs trailing upon the ground. Alrik calmly set to work, binding Arden’s wrists to two large iron rings set into the surface of the table. Arden lay with his cheek pressed against the hard wood, panting, eyes glazed in pain.

Alrik moved behind Arden and reached around his waist to undo the mage’s pants.

“Wait, what are you doing?” protested Sebastian as he moved forward, one hand upraised as Alrik tugged and jerked at Arden’s pants until they had fallen to his knees, baring his pale buttocks.

“You must not question my methods, Brother Sebastian,” chided Alrik in a gentle tone as he fondled Arden’s rear with a gauntleted hand before tugging off the pants, leaving Arden naked. He kicked the mage’s legs further apart as he removed one gauntlet, and then he reached down and thrust a single finger firmly into Arden’s body.

The mage stiffened with a muffled cry and jerked, his head lifting from the table as his eyes widened at the intrusion. He struggled futilely as Alrik forced a second finger in beside the first, thrusting slowly into Arden’s body. The mage’s sphincter clamped down on the unwanted intrusion and Alrik laughed, a low and throaty chuckle. “Now now,” he said quietly. “If you do that it will only hurt more.” He worked his fingers in and out of Arden’s unwilling body as he fondled Arden’s arse.

Sebastian moved to the head of the table and took Arden’s slender pale hands in his. “Look at me,” he said quietly. Arden lifted his head slowly, his amber eyes dark with pain, jerking with each painful thrust into his body. “He’s right,” Sebastian admitted, his own blue eyes full of distress as he squeezed Arden’s fingers gently. “Try to relax and let him in. It will hurt less.”

Panting, Arden stared at him then slowly nodded. He kept his eyes on Sebastian’s as he consciously tried to relax, then screwed his eyes shut, panting, as Alrik forced a third finger into his tight passage, flexing his fingers inside Arden. A thin whining sound escaped from the back of Arden’s throat, but he consciously relaxed his muscles, allowing Alrik to slide a fourth finger in, thrusting deep into his body.

Alrik folded his thumb in against the palm of his hand, then began to push his whole hand into the mage’s trembling body. He paused as his knuckles grazed the ring of muscle inside, waiting until Arden’s body had grown accustomed to the feel and the muscle relaxed.

Then he thrust his whole hand into Arden.

Arden rocked, feeling himself filled impossibly full. As Alrik began to pump his hand in and out of the slender mage’s body, he rocked with each thrust, moaning and then panting, his fingers clutching desperately to Sebastian’s hands like a drowning man, his eyes tight shut and his head thrown back as Alrik fisted him, building up speed and force until each thrust was like a punch to his innards. He was oblivious to the painful grasp of Alrik’s gauntleted hand leaving finger-shaped bruises in the white flesh of his hip as Alrik mercilessly fucked him with his fist.

It was almost a relief when Alrik withdrew his hand and replaced it with his thick, engorged member. Arden let his head sink back down upon the wooden table, fingers loosening their grip upon Sebastian’s hands. The priest gently stroked Arden’s hair as Alrik raped him. “Soon,” he whispered soothingly. “It’ll be over soon.”

Finally Alrik came with a grunt, spilling his seed inside Arden’s bruised and bloody body. After a moment he pulled himself free and walked away to clean himself. The mage moaned softly, feeling the templar’s seed mixed with his own blood run wet, sticky and hot down the insides of his thighs.

“I’m sorry, so sorry,” gasped Sebastian as he pulled at the ropes, loosening Arden’s bonds. Arden’s hands were limp, his wrists bloody and chafed raw by the ropes; he lay limp and unmoving upon the table as Sebastian freed him, only able to roll his eyes dazedly towards the Chantry brother as Sebastian reached behind his head and loosened the gag. The corners of Arden’s mouth had split, and his chin was smeared with spit and blood. “It’s over,” the Starkhaven prince promised quietly.

“Who said it was over, Brother Sebastian?” called Alrik as he returned, two other templars in tow.

“He’s had enough - he’s been adequately punished for his transgressions,” protested Sebastian as he stepped in front of Arden who lay sprawled upon the table, unable to move.

“I will decide when he has been adequately punished,” declared Alrik. “I’ve not finished with him yet."

“I will not permit this abuse!” declared Sebastian, drawing himself up. He didn’t notice one of the templars circling around to his side, drawing his sword; he had eyes only for Ser Alrik who grinned at him mockingly.

Sebastian crumpled to the ground as the templar brought the hilt of his sword crashing down against the side of his head just behind his right ear. He lay there, stunned, only able to watch dazedly as the templars dragged Arden away from the table. One stood behind Arden, holding him up whilst the other began to beat him with his gauntleted fists. Sebastian watched helplessly, shuddering at each muffled thud of gauntleted fists into helpless flesh, Arden’s breath driven from his body with each blow, wheezing between each punch.

The templar holding Arden thrust the near-unconscious mage towards the other templar who held him as the first templar began punching Arden’s back, directing hard jabs into the small of his back over his kidneys. They laughed as they used him as an unprotesting punchbag, pushing him between them before dropping him to the ground and kicking him. One stepped upon the outstretched fingers of one hand with a sickening crunch of snapping bones before he stomped on Arden’s wrist. Sebastian closed his eyes and moaned as Arden gave a low, sobbing cry.

The smell of hot metal drifted to Sebastian’s nose and his eyes flew open as he struggled to his knees. The templars had pulled Arden up to his knees, his bruised and bloodied body hanging limp between them. Alrik approached with something glowing cherry red in one hand as he reached out with the other. Fisting his hand in Arden’s hair, he forced the apostate’s head back.

“No!” screamed Sebastian as he pushed himself to his feet. “No branding! No orders were given for the Rite of Tranquility!”

Arden stared dully at the brand as it hovered over his forehead. He could feel the heat radiating from the burning hot metal.

“There is only one sure cure for the recalcitrant mage, Brother Sebastian,” said Alrik evenly. “You know that. It is either the brand or the noose.”

“He is not to be made Tranquil,” growled Sebastian. “I will not permit it.”

“Will not?” asked Alrik. He stared at the prince, the brand hovering scant inches from Arden’s skin.

After long moments, he finally smiled and stepped away. “As you wish,” he conceded, walking back over to the instrument table. “Hang him,” he snapped as he turned his back.

“No!” screamed Sebastian as the two templars dragged Arden over towards a noose that hung from a hook in the ceiling. He rushed forward but suddenly Alrik had him from behind, pinning him in a bear-hug. He struggled futilely, watching helplessly as the templars slipped the noose over Arden’s unresisting head. They tightened the rope around his throat and then one templar stepped over to the rope and began to hoist Arden slowly into the air.

The mage gasped as the rope tightened, his feet slowly being dragged off the floor. He kicked helplessly, his toes scant inches off the ground as the rope tightened about his throat, slowly but inexorably cutting off his breath as his chest heaved desperately. As Sebastian watched helplessly, Arden’s struggles slowed as his head lowered, eyes drifting closed until finally he hung still.

Sebastian shook his head as tears streamed down his face. “No,” he whispered in disbelief. “Oh Maker, no.”

Alrik released him with a laugh. “You are too soft, Brother Sebastian,” he remarked as he and the templars walked to the door. “What is one more mage?” He glanced back from the doorway. “Thank you for a most amusing diversion. Do let me know if you find another mage in need of... chastisement.” He smiled and left.

Sebastian flung himself towards the still form of Arden as he swung slowly from the rope, lifeless and unbreathing. The prince grabbed at the rope, untying it, then rushed over to Arden’s side as the mage dropped to the floor and lay in a tangled sprawl of limbs. Sebastian fought to loosen the noose around Arden’s pale, bruised throat, finally tugging it free before throwing it aside. He bent over Arden’s limp body and pressed his ear to Arden’s chest.

Maker be praised, his heart still beat weakly within his chest. Sebastian straightened Arden’s limp limbs, tilting his head back and pinching his nose shut before sealing his lips around Arden’s mouth and giving a lusty blow, inflating Arden’s lungs. He lifted his head as the mage softly exhaled, then repeated the breath.

Seven times he breathed for the unconscious mage before Arden abruptly coughed and then drew a slow, ragged breath by himself.

“Oh Maker be praised,” breathed Sebastian. “Sweet Andraste be merciful to Your servant Arden; heal him with Your loving grace. Maker, grant him life, let him live to Your glory, I beg You.”

Arden breathed, each breath slow and laboured. Sebastian glanced around then grabbed the mage’s robe, bundling his limp body in it before gathering up the rest of Arden’s clothes into a rough bundle which he slung over his shoulder.

He gathered Arden in his arms then carried him swiftly out of the dungeons, his cheeks still wet with tears. He bore the unconscious mage swiftly through the streets, back to the Hawke estate. The house was dark; Bodahn was out on some errand, Orana gone to the alienage to visit friends. The house was silent and deserted as Sebastian forced his way in through the servant’s entrance and carried Arden upstairs to his bedroom.

He laid Arden on the bed, stripping off the blood-soaked robe, then fetched warm water and towels from the bathing chamber, healing ointments and bandages. He laid everything out on a small table he drew over beside the bed, then slowly he began to gently wash the blood from Arden’s still form. He dressed his wounds carefully, setting the poor mangled fingers and wrist before splinting them then bandaging them with soft white linen.

He lifted the limp mage and draped Arden’s arms over his shoulders, the mage’s head pillowed against the side of his neck as he slowly wound bandages around his bruised and lacerated torso, ointment spread over the cuts and weals that crisscrossed Arden’s back from shoulders to hips, soft pads against the dark bruises over his kidneys before swathing his body in the soft white bandages.

He laid the unconscious mage back against the pillows then slicked up his finger with more of the healing ointment. Wincing, he carefully applied the ointment inside Arden’s unresisting body before spreading more of the ointment upon a pad he placed against Arden’s perineum before clothing him in fresh smallclothes.

He dressed Arden slowly in a fresh shirt, under-robe and a clean robe from the wardrobe then laid Arden in the bed, head resting upon the pillows. He drew the coverlet up to Arden’s chest. The mage had not moved once during all of Sebastian’s ministrations, the silence broken only by the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the hitching of Sebastian’s breath as he sobbed silently, racked with guilt for what he had allowed to transpire under his watchful gaze. Arden was grievously wounded and hurt, and though he had asked for punishment this had gone far beyond what either had anticipated, far beyond Sebastian’s control.

He stared down at Arden’s unconscious form. The mage seemed younger than his years, one eye bruised and swollen shut, bruises along the jaw, the dark mottled marks of the rope standing out in ghastly contrast against the white flesh of his throat. His breathing was slow, deep and steady.

Unable to do more, Sebastian crept from the room, gathering up the bloodstained clothes and taking them to the laundry room before silently stealing from the house. He had done what he could; there was one more thing to do however.

He called a passing urchin to him and pressed a silver coin into the lad’s hand. “Go fetch the healer from Darktown,” he said quietly but urgently. “Tell him Hawke is hurt. But say nothing to anyone else, understand? Just the healer.”

The lad nodded, wide-eyed. “Aye, Brother,” he answered in a hushed tone. “Who did it?”

Sebastian swallowed and closed his eyes. “Templars,” he managed to whisper. He opened his eyes as the lad fled, fleet-footed. Sighing heavily, Sebastian turned with heavy heart and made his way back towards the Chantry. Turning aside from the passage that led to his own cell, he made his way slowly towards Elthina’s office.

 

**

 

The news spread like wildfire through the streets of Lowtown and Darktown. When Anders arrived at the house, he found all was in uproar. Bodahn stood in the foyer wringing his hands. “I don’t know how it happened,” he bemoaned to any who would listen. “I was only gone a couple of hours, I swear!” Orana stood in the doorway to the kitchen, clutching her apron to her face as she sobbed inconsolably. “Say the master won’t die, Messere Anders!” she begged him.

“I will do my best,” he promised her before taking the stairs to Arden’s bedroom two at a time.

Fenris was sat upon the edge of the bed, staring anxiously at Arden’s bruised and pale face. He glanced up as Anders burst in, all trace of his usual hostility gone, overlaid with concern for his lover. “I got here as quickly as I could,” the healer blurted as he threw himself down upon Arden’s other side. “How is he?”

“Bad,” admitted Fenris, his eyes snapping with cold fury. “I am not certain how bad.”

“They said it was templars,” muttered Anders as he threw back the coverlet and unlaced the robe. He recoiled in horror as the collar fell away, baring Arden’s throat and revealing the livid bruise encircling his throat just below his jaw. “They _hung_ him??”

“So it seems,” answered Fenris grimly. 

“How did he get here?” asked Anders as he pulled away the over-robe and unbuttoned the pale cream under-robe beneath before laying a hand lightly upon Arden’s chest, noting with clinical detachment the slow, stertorous nature of his breathing. He felt for the pulse at Arden’s throat then brushed open one eye with his thumb, noting how the wide dilated pupil did not shrink when the candlelight fell upon it and the cold clammy feel of Arden’s skin.

“The boy said he was given the message by a brother of the Chantry,” answered Fenris as he watched Anders setting to work. Anders paused and glanced up.

“Sebastian?” he guessed.

Fenris shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said quietly.

They exchanged a glance, then Anders closed his eyes, drawing upon his healing powers as his hands were enveloped by a glowing blue nimbus of power which sank into Arden’s unresponsive body. There was silence in the room as Anders worked his healing, slowing internal bleeding, drawing torn ligaments back together and knitting shattered bone of ribs, wrist and fingers. Fenris watched; as Anders slumped slightly, the sweat standing out upon his forehead, the elf uncorked a vial of lyrium and passed it to the mage. Anders downed it without a word then returned to the healing.

Fenris set out a further four vials, uncorking each as Anders faltered and passing it to the mage’s trembling hand, the trembling becoming more pronounced each time. As Anders reached out his hand once more, Fenris curled his fingers around the empty hand and closed it.

“Enough,” he rumbled quietly. “You have had five. No more or you risk poisoning yourself.”

Anders stared at him through eyes glazed with exhaustion. “I haven’t finished,” he protested dully.

“You have done enough,” replied the elf implacably. “He will live.”

Anders dropped his gaze to Arden’s sleeping face. The bruises had faded and there was a little more colour in his pale cheeks now, his breathing a little easier. Anders nodded slowly.

“We might have lost him,” he breathed.

“But we did not,” replied Fenris. Anders nodded, then lifted his head.

“Do we know which templars did this?” he asked dully.

Fenris shook his head. “No. We can only pray that Arden will be able to tell us more of his assailants when he awakens.”

Anders slumped with a tired groan.

“You have done well,” said Fenris, a slightly grudging yet admiring tone in his voice. “Go, you may sleep in the spare room for this night.”

Anders nodded and rose to his feet, swaying with exhaustion. He opened his mouth as if to speak but then shrugged, stumbling away dazedly towards the spare room.

Fenris stretched out upon the bed next to his sleeping lover. He watched his face long into the night until sleep claimed him.

 

**

 

Arden recovered slowly from his ordeal. Though both Anders and Fenris pressed him as much as they dared, he responded little to their questions, only answering “Templars,” when Fenris asked him yet again, “But who was it?”

He did not tell them the whole of what had happened, though he knew that Anders was fully aware of the litany of the insults his body had suffered. As he moved stiffly across the clinic to lay himself carefully down upon the examination table, he was aware of Anders’ eyes upon him. The healer knew; both the wounds outside and those inside. How they must have been caused. But the healer said nothing, respecting Arden’s silence. Anders worked further healing upon Arden, continuing the work he had begun that night.

Fenris could not understand Arden’s continued silence. He remonstrated with him, grew angry with him, and then finally subsided into a sullen, uncomprehending silence. Arden had been hurt but he would not let the elven warrior exact retribution for him. “The time is not right,” he would only reply quietly.

Three months later, Sebastian came to visit. He threw himself to his knees beside Arden’s chair and lifted tear-filled eyes towards the blond apostate, lips parting to beg forgiveness, but Arden leaned forward and placed a slender finger against the trembling lips.

“Hush,” he said quietly. “The time is not yet right. You have my forgiveness, but we must not speak of these things now.”

Sebastian swallowed hard, then slowly nodded. “Y-your penance?” he asked quietly.

“Done,” replied Arden quietly. “I understand now.”

“Do you?”  asked Sebastian quietly. “What was done to you - Hawke, please believe me, that was not normal, the Circle-” He fell silent as Arden raised his hand. He bowed his head; after long moments of thought, Sebastian looked up again. “Was it worth it?”

“I cannot say,” said Arden softly, his gaze distant and troubled. “There is something very wrong within the Circle, Sebastian. You must open your eyes. There is a storm coming; I can feel it. A time when all men must choose.”

“Choose?” asked Sebastian quietly.

“A side,” replied Arden softly.

“I stand by your side,” replied Sebastian stoutly. “My life is yours. Where you lead, I will follow.”

“Will you?” asked Arden sadly as he stared down at Sebastian, his amber eyes dark with remembered pain. “I wonder.”

He slowly turned away and stared into the fire.


End file.
